Criminal Minds
by MGMK
Summary: They're two of the world's most elusive criminal masterminds and they've never met…


**Disclaimer:** Don't own. Just borrowing.

**Author's Note:** Another reader request fic…and well overdue. Damn, I kinda like Tumblr more than over here. I mean, I don't actually have to be present to post new stuff over there. Definite plus. Thanks for reading and reviewing. Oh and major props to the prompter and beta for helping me with this.

* * *

Brittany slides down the rappel line, the noise of her locking buckle the only sound as she descends into darkness.

The space she has to maneuver through is minuscule; a cylindrical, vertical pathway highlighted by red laser motion detectors and security cameras.

She won't be able to avoid being seen, but with the right amount of practice and with a spine as flexible as a Twizzler a person could avoid being detected until they want to be.

And Brittany S. Pierce, criminal mastermind, is that person.

One more deep breath and she's headed down, the timer in her head automatically counting down the seconds as she squeezes her body against the rope, making sure to remain completely parallel with it so that she looks very much like a human dart, heading toward its target.

And, the Kaz….something red diamond at five carats and one of only three of its kind in existence is one heck of a target.

She descends meticulously, yet quickly, sweat droplets forming under the thick, black wool hat she's wearing but finally she reaches the impenetrable glass case, swinging her body around until her nose is almost pressed against the glass.

Brittany wriggles along her harness, searching for her most trusted tool, a laser glass cutter, and grins when her hand finds the item working it out as carefully as she can manage.

Placing the hard plastic handle between her teeth, she outlines a small circle in the display case, working hard to maintain her concentration even though the clock in her head is trickling perilously close to zero.

Leaving an inch of the circle undone, Brittany tucks the tool back away before she breathes in again, closing her eyes and counting down the last five seconds then….

BAM!

CRASH!

RRRRIIIINNNGGG!

ZZZZZZZIIIIPPPP!

* * *

Brittany watches all the chaos from across the street, already back out of the museum and back into clothes that looks a little less suspicious.

Who'd ever suspect the pretty blonde with the rainbow suspenders?

No one.

"What the _hell_do you think you're doing?"

Or, almost no one.

Brittany rolls her eyes, already annoyed, but she plasters on a smile as she turns around anyway, clutching her heavy backpack tightly.

"Excuse me?" she asks, playing up her confusion but stopping short when she sees what clearly has got to be the most unbelievably gorgeous woman she's ever seen.

She's only wearing jeans and a tank top so she shouldn't look so breathtaking by any stretch of the imagination but she does, her dark eyes alluring as they stare hard into Brittany's, her long, dark hair blowing in the light Pacific winds.

She's fucking hot, Brittany decides.

And she looks _pissed_.

"What are you doing?" the woman repeats, hands on her hips and Brittany narrows her eyes, only to check her giggles.

"I…" she starts, keeping up her act, "I don't understand. Do I know you?"

"Look," the woman hisses, advancing on Brittany and the blonde takes an involuntary step back,  
"I _saw_you come out of that building," she says, nodding her head in the direction of the now incredibly busy museum. Brittany should be getting out of here now, before someone finds it suspicious that there are backpackers trolling the streets of LA before dawn.

"I didn't-"

"I saw you come from the roof," the woman continues with a raised eyebrow and Brittany finally notices; notices the subtle nuances of trying too hard to blend in, notices her camera hanging from her neck, the uneasy set of her stance….the identical bag hanging from her shoulders.

"Wait a minute. Who are you?" Brittany asks, intrigue setting in and the woman shrugs, backing up.

"That's not important," she says hurriedly, looking nervous for the first time since she's started talking to Brittany, "Just…give me what's mine and no one will get hurt."

"Oh my God," Brittany gasps, finally connecting the dots, "You want my Kardashian diamond."

The woman rolls her eyes, "It's Kazanjian. And yes, I do. So where is it?" she hisses out.

"I'm not giving it to you," Brittany says, appalled. "It's mine. I earned it fair and square."

"You stole it."

Brittany shrugs. "That's detainable"

"Debatable," the woman corrects quickly, stepping toward Brittany again, "And it's not really. I _know _you stole it."

"So what if I did," Brittany says, her tone accusatory, "It's not like you weren't gonna do the same thing."

It's risky, admitting it like she's just done, but, hey, world renown thieves aren't exactly known for being cautious, now are they?

The woman's eyes widen and then narrow. "How much do you want for it?"

"Ha!" Brittany says, "I knew it."

"Name your price," the woman repeats.

"No dice, sweet cheeks," Brittany quips, backing away. "Better luck next time."

* * *

_Or worse luck _Brittany amends some six months later when she stumbles into the old creaky store crate and finds the same woman crouched low and stashing the ancient figurehead statuette into her satchel.

"What, are you following me or something?" Brittany asks, blowing her bangs out of her eyes, the humidity making them droop.

The woman jumps, spinning around, her rugged hiking boots skittering in the dust and sand.  
She's wearing a little bush hat and it's cutely a size or two too large and Brittany has to fight not to laugh as it falls over the woman's eyes. "Jesus," she breathes out, clutching her heart, "You scared me."

"Obviously," Brittany says, leaning against one of the stone slabs and crossing her ankles, casually. "Still didn't answer my question though."

"I'm not following _you_," the woman sneers, pushing herself to her feet and into a defensive posture, "You're clearly following me."

"Now, see," Brittany says, scratching her chin, her water canteen bouncing from where it's clipped to her hip, "Normally I'd be inclined to believe you but since I don't even know who you are, I don't think it would be possible for me to follow you."

"Ugh," the woman groans, done with Brittany and she reaches for her flashlight, intent on moving past the blonde, "You're such a smart ass."

Brittany grins. "Thank you," she quips, moving aside easily and the woman moves out of the clearing a few feet before turning around with a smirk.

"Thanks for the water," she snarks, pulling down an old wooden handle and the walls of the place shift, a large stone slab sliding down just in time for Brittany to see her shaking her precious water canteen teasingly.

Brittany smirks back. "Thanks for the statue," she fires back, tossing the item in the air carelessly and laughing at the widened eyes until they disappear from view.

* * *

Third time they meet: Brittany finally learns her name.

And she also almost falls twenty stories to her death but, you know, whatever.

It's a relatively routine heist – a gift for her friend Kurt's birthday.

An 18th century Unicorn that he was going on about and she figured a pretty picture of a horse – that's she's totally looking forward to seeing by the way – wouldn't be too terribly hard to lift.

Turns out it's just a toy boat though and, well, _that _kinda sucks but she'll get it anyway. After all, she's already in Spain now, it'd be a waste of airfare otherwise.

Not that _she_ actually_ paid _for her ticket or anything.

But that's beside the point.

The point is when she finally manages to duck security and sneak down small passage housing the naval history section, there's something in her way.

Or, rather, someone.

Brittany takes slow determined steps toward the other woman this time, intent on not letting anything slip and trying not to get too incredibly distracted by the outfit she has on - _who wears _that_ to a heist?_- but in the process of keeping her eyes on the prize (prizes?), she fails to note the air extraction grate on the floor, conveniently left uncovered and before she can even manage a proper curse, she's falling...fast.

Thinking fast, Brittany reaches out, hands scrambling along smooth metal surface frantically, trying to find a foothold or anything she can grab onto.

Her elbow bangs hard off of a small ledge, and she almost misses her chance because of the jolt, but she manages to wrap her fingers around it, grimacing as she finally stops her momentum.

"Hey!" a familiar voice calls down the chute, "You dead yet?"

Brittany grunts, reestablishing her grip on the ledge as she was starting to slip again,"If I say yes will you quit stalking me?"

"For someone so obviously in dire need of assistance, you don't _sound _like it!"

Brittany frowns, "I don't know what dire means but I don't _need _your help!"

"Right, 'cause you're _Spiderwoman_," the woman says and Brittany hears something being thrown down the small dark space, hitting her softly on the head. "Grab on, chica. I'll lift you up."

Brittany eyes the rope she now sees hanging beside her warily, hesitant. "How do I know you won't just let go when I climb on?"  
"You don't," the woman quips and Brittanya can almost hear her smile, "So, I guess you'll just have to take a leap of faith."

Brittany lets of a slow breath, her mind warring with whatever else inside of her that's screaming _don't grab that rope _but when her fingers give a little tremor she throws caution to the wind and reaches out, fingers gripping onto the thick twine tightly.

"Please don't let me go," she whispers but in the quiet of this narrow air duct, she may as well have shouted it and the rusty chuckle that floats down to meet her ears soothes more than it annoys.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

* * *

"Shit," Brittany finally curses, her chest heaving as she pants, back flat against the floor.

Her counterpart is lying beside her in similar distress.

That was one hell of a haul.

"Jesus," the woman next to her breathes, "What the hell do you eat? You weigh a ton."

Brittany groans, pushing her body into a sitting position. "Do you ever not say what you're thinking?"

"No," the woman quips, "Because my first mind is usually scarily accurate about things. Like, my first mind totally knows that you were after this here model ship."

Brittany's eyes widen as she watches the woman pull the scaled down boat from behind her, still housed in its protective case.

"Give it to me," Brittany says automatically, her fingers itching around the rope she's still clinging on to.

The woman smirks, "What do you want with it?"

Brittany's fingers twitch. "Why do you care?"

"Humor me," she fires back and Brittany snaps, lunging toward her the rope stretched taut between her fingers but in an instant the glass box is dangling ominously over the air hatch and Brittany's forced to fall back on her haunches, sighing deeply.

"Fine," she grumps, pouting just a little as she folds her arms, "It was supposed to be a birthday gift for my friend Kurt, okay?"

Brittany watches as the woman eyes her intently, still letting the ship teeter-totter precariously on her fingertips, but then she snatches it back out of harm's way, tucking it safely away in a black duffel bag. "Tell you what, I'll hand over this boat on one condition."

She doesn't say anything more and Brittany narrows her eyes, wondering what this woman could possibly be driving at.

"What is it?"

The woman smiles, her cheeks dimpling in the process, though there's something almost predatory in her gaze. "Have coffee with me. One cup of coffee and I'll give you your toy boat."

Something about this entire thing just screams - _screeches, howls_- set up.

Brittany's sure the moment she and this woman go anywhere a bunch of unmarked cars will surround them and Brittany'll either go with them quietly or out in a blaze of glory.

Patronizing this person, this person who's obviously(replace word) been following her, would not be the smart thing to do.

At all.

* * *

Unless of course that person is a sex goddess.

Then it'd be a fantastic thing to do.

Brittany moans, her toes curling into the cool, damp sheets.

A fucking fantastically, awesomely, fabulously orgasmic thing to do.

"I thought," Brittany breathes, the muscles in her stomach tightening until it's almost painful, but the woman - _her name's Santana by the way_- whose face is between her legs, doesn't relent, lips and tongue working in tandem, stoking the flames of desire burning low in Brittany's groin to a fever pitch. "I thought," Brittany tries again, making a keening sound low in her chest, "We were getting…coffee."

They're nude, although Brittany can't exactly recall how that came to be and she's teetering so close to the edge of bliss she can see stars.

Santana hums, stopping momentarily and grinning up at Brittany when the blonde lets loose a noise of annoyance. Brittany bites her lip when the lamp light reflects off of the other woman's face, glistening with the evidence of her arousal. "We are," she murmurs, pressing a wet kiss to the inside of Brittany's left thigh and then her right before chuckling lowly, "I just didn't specify when. So…"

Brittany shudders as the kisses draw closer, firmer as they near her most intimate place and Santana keeps her eyes on Brittany, transfixed.

"…I was thinking...we could have coffee…over breakfast…tomorrow," Santana says, kisses punctuating the spaces between her words. "Because I'm not letting you go anywhere tonight," she husks darkly, her mouth diving in again without any preamble, lips wrapping around Brittany's sensitive bundle of nerves, teeth scraping against it gently and sending her crashing over the edge, her whole body jolting forward with the force of her release.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit…" Brittany curses over and over as pleasurable wave after pleasurable wave washes over her, Santana working her down from her orgasm with slow, lazy strokes, her hands still curled around Brittany's thighs.

Brittany's hands unfurl, turning loose the sheet she'd been clenching as the tension in her legs finally melts away.  
She reaches down for Santana, tugging at long lock of dark hair until the woman reluctantly pulls away, licking her lips in earnest.

"C'mere," Brittany murmurs, a half second before she's claiming that talented mouth with hers, moaning at the taste of herself on Santana's tongue.

They kiss deeply, passionately, Brittany's hands traversing the skin of Santana's back, fingertips mapping lines along the sinews of muscle, the sharpness of bone.

Santana shifts so that one of her legs fall between Brittany's, thigh taught against Brittany's heat but the blonde has no intention of this dance continuing so one sided, even as her nails bite into Santana's shoulders in reaction.

Quick as lightening – and in a way that would make Lord Tubbington proud – Santana's on her back, Brittany's legs folding so that their tucked neatly on either side of her hips and she smiles down at the look of absolute shock that graces the other woman's features.

"What?" Brittany grins, holding herself up with one arm while her hand skirts along the skin stretched across Santana's collarbone, gradually working its way lower. "You don't like it on the bottom?"

Santana recovers, lifting her head just enough to be able to capture one of Brittany's nipples. "It's got its perks," she murmurs against the tightening skin and Brittany laughs, nails scratching lightly against Santana's stomach, the flutter of movement beneath the skin there almost as delicious as the insistent yet subtle twitching of Santana's hips.

Brittany smirks, "You want me?"

Santana's lips quirk up, barely a smile.

She nods.

Brittany's adventurous hand inches lower, past barely there softness until she reaches the sticky warmth she'd been searching for, one lone finger stroking firmly.

She hovers above Santana, the rush of hot air as the other woman gasps caressing her lips gently and she smiles, sexy and just a tad bit carnal.

"How?" she husks breathlessly, eyes almost navy blue as they stare into Santana's heavy-lidded ones.

Santana grins, shifting her hips so that Brittany can feel her more thoroughly, how ready she is as she arches her neck up, teeth clamping onto Brittany's lower lip to tug her closer so that they're nose to nose.

"Baby," she breathes, pausing to kiss Brittany again, "I'll take whatever you got."

* * *

It takes a moment for the puzzle pieces to fall into place but when they do, Brittany smiles into the crook of her arm, breathing deeply as she replays memories of the night past.

Flashes of bronzed skin and dark hair flip past her mind's eye as she acquaints her body and senses with the waking world, shoulders shifting, muscles contracting and relaxing as she melts into the warmth of the bedcovers.

She feels...she's not entirely sure how she feels but she doesn't want to stop feeling it, not for a second.

But the shower's running and if memory serves her correctly there should be a beautiful woman luxuriating in that water, droplets streaming over a perfect, naked, body...

Brittany's eyes pop open; She could go for a shower right now.

* * *

Santana peers around the marble column, before leaning heavily up against it, breathing hard.

Tugging the strap of her satchel to make sure it's secured tightly she breathes in deeply before diving across the floor, making sure to keep her rubber-soled shoes up in the air so as to avoid the high-pitched squeaking sound they'd undoubtedly cause.

She crash lands into the opposite column, blowing forth the breath she's holding when the rigid structure nudges against her side uncomfortably, but, thankfully she notes - her sunglass-covered eyes observing the none-the-wiser security personnel - her presence has gone undetected.

She smirks, pushing herself back up into a standing position and casually exiting the building, slipping out onto the street and blending with the other pedestrians.

She ducks into a nearby alleyway, quickly finding her motorbike right where she left it, leaning up against the decaying brick undisturbed.

But when she tries for her keys, the ones she'd conveniently left hidden in the small hatch-seat in case of an emergent quick getaway, she comes up empty.

"Looking for something?" Brittany asks, twirling the set of keys around her index finger.

She's leant against the opposite wall, wearing a cut off tank top and baggy cargo shorts slung super-low on her hips. Her shoes are still untied and her hair's a little wet and curling from the humidity of mid-morning.

Santana's head tilts lower, and she bites her lip to contain her smile. "I was gonna come back," she murmurs demurely.

"Uh huh," Brittany says, not with any malice but clearly unconvinced, "I'm sure."

"I was," Santana assures her, looking to Brittany quickly, "I just had to...do... something."

Her voice trails off in a murmur as she looks away momentarily and, for once, all that bravado, that swagger, is completely stripped away and what Brittany's left looking at is a shy, adorably shy, young woman.

She's still looks super hot because, duh, but she looks nowhere near as confident as the woman she'd presented herself as last night.

Brittany pushes off of the wall, swaggering over. "And this thing you had to do...you had to do it without waking me up first? Letting me know you were going out? That I shouldn't go looking for you and find out that we'd spent the evening in an _unpaid _for hotel room?"

Santana's eyes widen. "Why'd you leave?"

"I was looking for _you_."

"Oh my God, Brittany. All my stuff was in that room...wait, hold up," Santana says, holding up a hand in the midst of her rant, "How'd you find me?"

Brittany grins. "All your stuff was in that room. Including your GPS tracker that you'd conveniently left synced up to your cell phone," she says cutely and Santana chuckles, shaking her head to herself.

"So, pray tell," Brittany continues, "What was so important at this big ol' museum - by the way, this security sucks super bad because they still haven't figured that boat is missing - that you just had to leave a completely naked, extremely sexy - if I do say so myself - woman all alone in _your_bed? "

Brittany looks on as Santana seemingly fights some kind of internal battle, tilting her head from one side to the other as she debates. After a moment or so, she nods, murmurs something to herself and tugs on her satchel strap so that the bag in front of her.

Curious blue eyes narrow as Santana produces a bag - a gift shop bag from the museum - and hold it out towards her, the dark-haired woman looking ever so anxious when Brittany grabs for it.

"I bought it," Santana says, rolling her eyes at herself before motioning for Brittany to open the bag. "It's for you."

Brittany reaches inside and pulls up a bundle of foam wrapping paper, not very heavy but not exactly light as a feather either. She looks back to Santana, who's nervously fidgeting with her hands.

"I just..." Santana starts, speaking as Brittany unveils the item, "...you were sleeping and I went through some of your stuff and your phone because, you know, I'm a criminal, and I saw all the pictures and I figured you might like it so..."

"Oh my God," Brittany gasps out when the paper finally falls away, revealing a tiny porcelain unicorn - identical to the whimsical ones you'd find on a carousel. It barely fits in the palm of her hand and the style-work isn't especially intricate but it's still the coolest thing Brittany thinks she's ever been given.

And that includes her silver 2013 Ferrari F12 Berlinetta.

"I wanted to buy it for you," Santana starts, still sitting astride her bike, "Because last night was incredible and...well, wow, that totally sounds like I bought you a gift in exchange for sex but that's not what I mean. It's just...I didn't want to start off anything...illegally? Oh god, I suck at words."

Brittany giggles, stepping forward. "I get what you mean. I think."

"Well I'm glad one of us does," Santana says ruefully, turning her shoulders so that she's facing Brittany straight on. "I just...I'd really like to see you again."

Brittany smiles, closing the distance between them with two quick steps, maintaining a solid grip on her unicorn even as she bends to find Santana's lips.

"I think that can be arranged," she murmurs quietly, smiling into their shared kiss.

* * *

Brittany, eyes closed and concentrating on sound only, grins as she hears the last click of the locking mechanism slide into place, the safe door swinging inward as it pops open.

Santana drops down next to her, flashlight in hand. "Genius," she breathes through a whisper, pecking Brittany quickly on the lips before opening up their black duffel bag and helping to load the bills.

"I told you," Brittany mumbles, dropping stack after stack of banded bills onto their pile, "Piece of cake. The Fabrays are loaded and their security? Weak."

Santana nods. "We'll have our apartment in Paris in no time."

They empty the safe quickly and zip the bag back up, Santana testing the strength of their climbing line while Brittany does a quick print check.

"We're clean," she says quietly, securing the safe door again...and that's when the alarm goes off.

"Brittany," Santana admonishes, looking down at her girlfriend.

"Sorry," Brittany says with a shrug, looking sheepish. "Who triggers their alarm to go off after the safe's been closed again? That's stupid."

"Come on," Santana says, reaching for her hand to pull her upright, "We gotta get out of here."

There's not a lot of space - they are climbing in between the walls after all - but Brittany admires the view the entire way up, strategically copping a feel as well as giving Santana a boost when they reach the attic.

"Are you for real right now, Brittany?" Santana asks, hurriedly slipping back into her gray work suit and rolling her eyes playfully at Brittany's coy grin.

"Well, it was right _there_," she contends, pulling her ponytail through the loop in the back of her hat. Stuffing the duffel into the empty sprayer labeled pesticides, Brittany nods once when Santana looks to her, silently asking if she's ready.

Clamoring down the stairs and doing their best to look alarmed, she and Santana are walking down the third floor hallway when they finally see someone: two men in suits listening as an animated older man, dressed in a robe, gestures about wildly.

"What exterminators?" Russell Fabray yells, frantic, looking livid as his head security points down the hallway to the two uniformed Zap 'Em Dead workers. "I didn't call up any exterminators."

Brittany and Santana look at one another.  
"I'll meet you at home," Santana murmurs, slowly putting down her sprayer.

Brittany nods, hoisting the canister she's carrying tighter, "I'll pick up some milk."

They dive apart from one another, one going left and one going to the right, the security man's yelled "Freeze!" falling on deaf ears.


End file.
